The Crazy House
by GiggleSnortCharade
Summary: A collection of oneshot drabbles, post Season 5 finale. Each chapter will have a different storyline, so dismiss the Genres. There will be Huddy.
1. Cards and Lunch

**Hello and thank you for clicking on this story. I wrote this because (mock sobbing voice) _It's the only way I can cope!_Ha-ha okay, no. The Season 5 finale hit me hard- both my inner Huddy and my imagination. Fanfiction is the only way I'm going to survive this four-month House-drought, and I'm pretty sure there's a lot of other peeps who agree, so I figured... why not share some of the crap I've written up!**

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It was day twelve at Mayfield Psychiatric Hospital, where he, Gregory House, was currently residing. Yep. It had taken him a while to get used to it, but he had come to terms with his insanity. If he was going to be locked up in a room all by himself for long periods of time, he could at least count of Amber and Kutner to keep him company. Or at least amused.

Lord knew that there was nothing to do in his room. No television, no wifi, he wasn't even allowed his PSP. There wasn't even anything to look at. The walls were white, crisp, clean eggshell white. The floors were slightly yellowed white tile, and there was a single, solitary table-- a round one, of course. No need for sharp edges here. It was black. And a stool, drilled into place about a foot from the table. And then of course, there was the mattress- the white mattress with white sheets and white pillows.

Nothing.

House sucked in a breath and stared at the hallucinations from his spot on the mattress. They were animatedly playing cards on the floor, Kutner sitting cross-legged, hunched over the deck in his hand and making sure that Amber, who was lying on her stomach, kicking her legs up rhythmically, wasn't cheating.

This leg, that leg, go fish. This leg, that leg, I did not have a card up my sleeve! This leg, that leg, pause.

"You wanna play?" Kutner asked. The hallucinations looked at him earnestly, as if they were not really dead, as if House weren't really in a loony bin, and as if they'd ever play cards together.

Amber cocked her head, and mocked, "No, he's still to busy moping about Cuddy."

Kutner drew a card from the stack in-between them and arranged it into his hand accordingly, shaking his head slightly. "I would too. She's hot."

"You don't really think that. You're just a figment of his whacked-out mind. Only House likes Cuddy. But you know, she did have a great rack."

House sighed bitterly.

"A rack I never really saw."

"What do you expect, House? Can you honestly say you believed it would be that easy to get into her pants? A little Detoxing, some heart-to-heart conversations and a 'thank you'?" Amber's tone was teasing. It was supposed to be a joke, but no one, dead or alive, manifested any signs of humor.

"I should have known it was too good to be true."

The hallucinations were about to reply when the door opened. It was steel, shiny. He had spent most of day two staring at it. An attractive nurse came in, with a tray of who knows what for lunch.

"Mr. House, you wanted chocolate milk, right?"

House sighed, and did not bother to get up when the girl set the food down on the table. She looked about twenty-five, maybe thirty. Dark red hair- probably dyed. It was thick and straight and reminded him of those Chinese dolls with perfect, glossy locks.

"Sure." She sat the lunch tray down on the table and began revealing his food, taking the top off of the container, setting out his milk, an apple, a chicken sandwich (no pickles), and a little container of something along the lines of mashed potatoes.

"I have a better idea," House remarked, eyeing her backside and not at all surprised it was nothing compared to another he used to gaze after, "I was thinking, you, me, a straightjacket…"

His heart wasn't into it. She laughed politely.

"Oh you! I'm sure you say that to every lady. You're such a womanizer." He noted the small smile on her lips. Apparently when you're an attractive nurse at a psyche ward, most compliments are either attempted rape or perverts thinking out loud all the nasty things they'd like to do.

Or maybe, he thought sourly, _maybe _it wasn't real at all. _Maybe_ she wasn't smiling, and _maybe _she wasn't even there at all. _Maybe_he was still at his apartment, OD-ing on hydroquinone. It was likely. Hell, anything was likely. He didn't even know if he was a doctor anymore, which is why he hadn't bothered to correct the faculty as they all addressed him as "Mr. House".

Soon she was gone and he sat, staring at the food. He took a deep breath in. He could smell the probably leftover chicken, and decided to accept the lunch as a reality, but felt no immediate urge to eat it. Instead he stared, longingly, at it. It was real. It had to be.

It was the only thing he had right then.

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**Thanks for reading! There will be more to come, I promise you. Um, reviews are nice. Critique is also nice. **


	2. Visitors

**Um, this is another installment of my cruddy drabble series... Yes. So... (awkwardly scratches back of head) enjoy? Yeah, let's go with that!**

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Wilson was his first visitor. They sat in silence, silence House treasured. This way he did not have to worry about the image of his best friend doing or telling him something that wasn't real. This way if the person was not really Wilson at all... well, he wasn't sure how much more false truth he could handle.

Not speaking was a way of preserving sanity, to House. He had no intention of speaking, with Wilson sitting in a chair in the empty room, House on the mattress. Silence. Silent acknowledgement. That is, until a desperate urge to know took over his actions.

"Do they know?"

Wilson froze, surprised by his friends words. Did they know? He was sure some of his team had tried to visit him, only to find his apartment uninhabited.

"I don't think so. Everyone believes you're fired."

House nodded, chewing on his finger and not looking the least bit relieved.

He pursed his lips and paused, debating whether or not to continue speaking. He decided to ask one last thing.

"Cuddy?"

Wilson shook his head. "She's worried sick, she's upset, and... I think she feels lost without you. When I see her walk by your office, she always slows down and stares, with the saddest look on her face. Cuddy doesn't know what to do with herself now that you're gone. She doesn't even wear low-cut tops anymore."

House frowned and cocked his head slightly. Wilson gave a small smile.

"Because you're not there to admire and annoy her about it."

They fell silent again, House staring off; with such a look of remorse it hurt his friend. Wilson had no idea how humiliating it must feel for someone who admired and lived by rationality to be brought so low as to lose that exactly. Everything about House seemed degraded and full of self-loathing.

Wilson remembered times when he had wished humility upon House, and he regretted each time with a passion. He would give up everything just to have his old friend back, have the old House back. In fact, the whole hospital seemed less bright without the bastard annoying everyone.

And now, looking at his friend, Wilson wondered if he would ever see the old House again. The man he once knew was long gone, replaced by a humiliated, thin, empty _shell _who sat huddled at the edge of his crisp white bed, staring at everything and not knowing what of all he sees he should trust.

On his drive home, Wilson cried. He drove, hands at ten and two, feet on the petals, staring at the road, and let the tears flow.

House wasn't there to criticize the show of emotions.

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Cuddy was his second visitor, coming two weeks after Wilson. As soon as she entered the room, House looked down, and seemed to shrink back into the corner of his room even more. He wore white scrubs and dark blue jeans, and his hair was combed, but everything about his face was a mess. He was unshaven, and his haggard expression brought tears to her eyes.

She walked forwards, tentatively, and stopped, standing several feet from his bed.

"House?" Her voice was a lot less strong that she had hoped.

He blinked, but refused to acknowledge her.

"How are you?" This time Cuddy's voice broke, and she took the time he spent avoiding her to regain her composure, quickly wiping her eyes (and nose, for extra measure).

He said nothing, and felt Amber flop down on the bed next to him. He looked up at the hallucination quickly, then back down to his hands, which were tangled in the white linen covers of his bed, embarrassed that he had acknowledged the imaginary person.

"I think she's real, House." Amber stared at the woman intently.

Kutner sat next to Amber, sighing. "She looks horrible. Wilson was right."

There was a long and terrible silence, and Cuddy bit her lip as the man she admired so much grew smaller and smaller, that empty look on his face all but cracking her heart into a million pieces.

Finally he looked at her, his eyebrows dipping above his blue eyes in perfect U shapes, and he whispered, "Are you real?"

That was all it took. The woman broke the barriers she had put up; mentality prepared for herself, thinking she would need protection from House's sharp words. But this was not House, and she discarded them herself.

She walked towards him, and climbed on the bed, wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly.

House closed his eyes and fought hard not to shrink away. Amber and Kutner were standing now, at the edge of the bed, watching with blank faces.

He closed his eyes. Was this real? Was the hug real? Was Cuddy real? It sure felt real. His hands twitched, and he slowly brought them around her, curious. They did not fall through her body when he tightened his grip. She was real.

"You are..." He said, almost to himself, in such a small voice that she felt tears sting her eyes.

"I'm real, House." They pooled in her eyes and fell down her face, and she felt for an instant, glad she hadn't applied mascara. Cuddy failed to mask her voice of sobs as she repeated, hugging him tighter,

"I'm real."

Amber's voice cut through the moment, snide and mocking, "Aw, how cute."

House drew away like he was hugging a hot skillet, somehow expertly weaseling out from from under Cuddy's grasp and settling at the very edge of his bed. He stared down, at his feet, at the ceiling, at the walls, anywhere but near her. She sat, and stared at him through her tears for a long time. He drew in a long breath.

"I'm... sorry."

Cuddy's brow wrinkled. "What?"

House looked at her, crumpling his face like it hurt to even be in her presence. He shook his head slightly. "Please," He struggled through his words. "Cuddy, go. Leave me alone."

"House..."

But he would not talk anymore. Instead, he curled into a ball and buried his head in his arms, drawing in slow, deep breaths. More tears came to her eyes. Amber watched bemusedly as Cuddy stood and left without another word. The door opened and shut, and he was alone again, or at least, as alone as he would ever be. Amber let out a whistle.

"Nice move, Romeo."

He didn't bother to reply.

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**Thanks for reading! More is to come. Again, I like reviews. **


	3. Truth

**Hi! And here's a third installment of my oneshot... drabbly... stuff. House is a little out of character, but hey. It's hard to understand the guy. And besides, he's crazy. He needs to act a little differently. ..Right? Please enjoy!  
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House sat on his white Mayfield Psychiatric Hospital bed, twirling his cane in his hands. He was finally allowed to be reunited with his old friend, after a month of staggering around, trying not to trip all over himself while grabbing wildly for anything that could support his weight just to walk to the other side of the room. If he was in any shape like he thought he was in his delusions a month ago, he would have just had a faint limp, but ever since his admittance, House found himself in such unbearable pain that he couldn't even move his leg without feeling like someone was shredding him to bits with a cheese grater.

Amber sat across from him, lounging in the sole chair in his room, picking at her perfectly manicured nails. Kutner hadn't manifested himself lately, and House took that as an indication of his getting better. Amber though, she's just like she was when she was alive. Stubborn. A real thorn in his side, no pun intended.

"Hey, Cut-throat." She looks up. Why exactly did he call out to her in the first place? He paused.

"When are you going to leave?" She laughed dryly, holding out her right hand and examining it in the fluorescent lights of the room.

"The day after never." Amber looked up at him, raising her eyebrow in a challenge. "Besides, why would you want to get rid of me, House? I think we've both established the fact you'll never have a real woman by your side any time soon. I figure you'll start to accept my company. I'm your alternative to love, to loneliness."

House sighed. "I'll never accept you." He looked up, and stared at the tiles in the ceiling. They were like the kinds in public schools, cheap and probably something as destructible as Styrofoam, with lights that flicker at such odd intervals you almost start believing that it's just you, blinking.

He could hear Amber laugh, and the click-clack of her heels as she walked towards him. She sat next to him, close to him, and stared him in the eyes wickedly, "Oh, but House… You already have."

House shut his eyes tightly and began reciting every bodily organ, it's uses and common diseases related to it in alphabetical order. Amber continued to laugh.

"What's the point in even thinking about medical stuff? It's practically a fact now that you'll never be sane enough to practice again," House shut his eyes tighter, tighter, so tight that he thought for sure he was going to seal his eyelids together. Amber was relentless, "You'll never be able to do anything anymore! You can't even walk! You can't tell reality from delusion, and look at you! You're in a Psychiatric Hospital, House. Not exactly what I call good information to put on a resume," She was laughing to herself, laughing, drawing out the words psychiatric hospital.

"C-cuddy-!" He protested, gritting his teeth as the emotional daggers Amber was plunging mercilessly into his chest combined with the burning, flesh-crawling pain radiating from his thigh, creating a combination that even a lethal dose of morphine couldn't tame. The hallucination erupted into wicked giggles, her voice dripping with such truth that it made tears sting his eyes,

"Cuddy what? Cuddy will hire you back? She's been dying to fire you ever since you set foot in her hospital, House. She doesn't want you back," Amber's voice cut through his pain-fogged mind, crystal clear when all else was starting to fade behind the great waves of pain that were rippling through his body.

"She-she-sh! Lo-loves m-!" House stuttered, grinding his teeth and huddling into a ball, trying his hardest to convince the hallucination, to convince himself, that what he was saying was true.

Another wicked laugh. "No, no she doesn't, House. How could she possibly love you? You're nothing but a cruel bastard. How many times have you insulted her, insulted everyone? You can't say two words without hurting her. She doesn't love you. No one loves you. Your father didn't love you, and you don't love yourself." She sneered, "Not even Stacy loved you, did she?"

It was all it took. Hot, salty tears poured down his face like waterfalls, dripping off his nose and chin, some slinking past his lips and gritted teeth onto his tongue, burning. He had nothing to hold them back anymore. No vicodin, no alcohol, hell, he didn't even have reality. Every single time he ever forced back his sorrow came back with a vengeance. The dam broke.

And Gregory House cried.

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**Okay. Um. Thanks for reading. I enjoy reviews. Wait! I know, I'll use reverse psychology. I hate reviews. Don't review. No matter what you do, don't hit that review button. A kitten will die if you do.**


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